


All of me

by QuiveringSunset



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, M/M, PWP, Prostitution, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuiveringSunset/pseuds/QuiveringSunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The boy smokes his cigarette the way fifteen year olds imagine supermodels give blowjobs. He has the eyes of a Disney cartoon, pale skinned and thin, and he is not at all what Erik expected.</p>
<p>Even so, the resemblance is <i>uncanny</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of me

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Erik hires a Charles!lookalike prostitute and has lots of Feels.
> 
> Can take place any time after First Class.

The boy smokes his cigarette the way fifteen year olds imagine supermodels give blowjobs. He has the eyes of a Disney cartoon, pale skinned and thin, and he is not at all what Erik expected.

"You all right love?" The boy asks. The _child_ , Erik reminds himself, because there is no way this creature is as old as he swears. Sixteen, seventeen possibly, though, like his _old friend_ , he too wears the face of one who will always be mistaken for younger than he is. 

There are slight differences to what Erik remembers, of course. His hair is shorter, for one, cropped closer to his head instead of a messy tumble. His lips aren't quite as red. And the way they mock-pout makes them something devious rather than endearing.

Even so, the resemblance is _uncanny_.

"You keep looking at me like that and we'll be done before we even get started." 

His accent his thicker, but still unmistakably English that the stretch isn't much effort, and it goes to Erik's head like the alcohol he hasn't touched in years. 

What are the odds, he wonders, of finding one such as this in times such as these, when everyone is so worried, as well they should be, about the chances of being caught. He half expects it to be Mystique in disguise, but though she is masterful there are some things she simply cannot capture. Little nuances unique to these illicit encounters that would never have entered on Raven Xavier's radar. The way the boy steps between Erik's thighs where he sits on the bed to bracket him in, how he takes a drag and blows the smoke through his nose away from Erik's face, the movement of his hands drifting across his bare chest to tease at the dip just above his jeans, tight and black...it's all designed to mislead, to entice the buyer into forgetting that this is all really quite dangerous. Illegal. Shameful. 

Erik had though he'd lost the capacity to feel shame about anything. He is not relieved to realize he was wrong.

"You're very pretty," the boy says. He hasn't touched Erik once since they came into the room. Smart little thing, waiting to see what Erik's intentions are before he commits himself to anything. He stamps out his cigarette and throws it on the grimy motel carpet. It's a testament to how shitty the room is that you can't even tell. "Usually I don't get so lucky." Of that, Erik has no doubt. "My mates are going to be jealous." 

Erik takes a deep breath, reaches behind his back to fish his wallet out of his pants. He doesn't want to scare the boy by using his powers, though his mind can't help but conjure up an image of this one writhing on the bed, wrists wrapped in the iron bars from the bedpost. Instead, he withdraws a twenty dollar bill and holds it up between two fingers for inspection. 

The boy's eyes are drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Then he tenses and looks suspicious.

"I'm not a cop," Erik says. He is so far from a cop that it's laughable. 

"You know that you have to tell me if you are."

Oh sweet thing. As if people _have_ to do anything but lie.

"I'm not. I promise."

The boy takes a moment before he snatches the money from Erik's fingers. And then it's like a switch has been thrown, and he is suddenly crawling into Erik's lap, scratching across Erik's chest, pressing his mouth to the spot behind Erik's ear and breathing out, hot and heavy, "Then tell me what you want, darling." 

Erik swallows, brings his hand up and cups the back of the boy's head, moving him so he looks right into those eyes. Not quite as brilliant, not quite as _there_ , but it'll do.

"I want you to suck my cock."

The boy's eyes widen slightly, real innocence or feigned Erik can't tell, and looks down their bodies to where their groins are pressed together, dark denim against bronzed skin, a swath of gold where the deep purple of Erik's shirt has risen up to expose a bit of his stomach.

"All right." 

And then he's moving, slinking his pale skinny body down Erik's like a coiled snake, hands pressed to Erik's legs spayed wide, pushing up so his fingers rest on the juncture between thigh and groin. He looks up at Erik as he reaches for the zipper, fingers teasing across the hardening bulge and, god, it's all too much. Erik closes his eyes. He reminds himself that he isn't doing anything wrong here, not really, other than the obvious. This boy makes his living by fulfilling the fantasies of men not half as old as Erik, not half as generous. Whatever scars will be made from this encounter are Erik's to bear, alone, with as much history and conviction and love as the knife that wields them.

The boy massages Erik through his trousers. "Do you want to know my name?" he asks. It fills Erik with fear, suddenly, and he almost lashes out, almost grabs this pretty little thing between his legs and shakes it. But he gets himself under control, gets himself back to the hazy in-between where this is both what it is and what it isn't.

"No."

"Hmmm." The boy takes the zipper and pulls it down. He reaches inside and grasps Erik's boxers, starts tugging them down. "Do you want to give me one?"

" _No-_ " Erik starts to say, then breaks off in a hiss as the boy presses gentle, wet pressure against the fabric, liking up and down with an expression on his face like he just did something to win the upper hand and he knows it. Erik's hands fist in the bed sheets. _Let go, I've got you_ , Erik hears in his head, and how cruel that the mind remembers these things, memories wrapped in sensations wrapped in desires.

"Can I know yours?" He's fished out Erik's cock, is working it to full hardness with slow, measured strokes. 

"Erik." 

"Erik," the boy says. "You have a fantastic cock, truly, gorgeous."

He cants his hips up so those deft fingers can pull his pants further down, Erik's hands clenching in the covers. There are little noises now, tiny sighs and hums of curiosity or pleasure that are too good, too _perfect_ to be completely fake. When the boy's lips wrap around him and suck him down smooth, Erik's breath is sharp through his nose. His jaw clenches. It's the prelude to destruction, the moment when everything metal is his to control -

His thighs tense and the boy hums. One of his hands has travelled up to Erik's stomach, pressing inside his shirt to feel where his stomach muscles are tight with the effort of holding steady. A finger ghosts over some battle scar, some relic, and the fingers are not these fingers, this place is not what it will never be. And Erik -

Snaps. Fists his hand around the top of that head (and that's why the hair is so short, so no one can grab onto it), and thrusts up. The boy chokes, and immediately Erik makes to pull away, an apology on his tongue, but the eyes hold him fast, watery and red. The eyes say yes while the mouth is stretched wide, shiny with spit and cum and it's a good thing this is all okay because Erik isn't sure he could stop, otherwise. 

Erik jerks, pushes his hand down, watching the pale back descend with every press, the knobs of the boy's spine standing out in sharp relief. Everything sounds wet. He pushes harder, lifts his hips higher, teeth clamping and feet straining. He's being pulled apart from the inside out, the great Magneto reduced to a quivering, pathetic, desperate mess only the way pretty English boys with blue eyes are able. 

Erik grunts, twitches, tries to warn. It's almost uncomfortable, the way his hips dig into the edge of the bed. His eyes are half-lidded in pleasure, shoulders hunching forward while his hand presses down, faster and faster, wetter and wetter, the little nose puffing short breaths against his belly, and god, he hadn't even noticed the freckles -

Erik comes burning alive, wrung out and gasping. As it dies, he spares half a thought for the boy, though surely unexpected orgasms are par for the course in his line of work. To Erik's relief, he doesn't seem fazed, just swallows it all down greedily, taking everything Erik has to offer until he's too tender and draws the boy off, his softening cock slipping out with a pop. Erik slumps back onto his elbows on the bed, buzzing with aftershocks.

This is when he remembers why he doesn't do this. Why it really is such a terrible thing to give in to temptation. 

The boy looks ruined, cheeks flushed and eye makeup running. But he also looks like everything _else_ , all the things Erik has tried to bury under miles and years and righteousness and anger and hate.

"You alright, love?" Other than his face, the boy is as suave as ever, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Erik nods. 

The boy takes in Erik's disheveled appearance, his cock still hanging out of his unfastened pants, and says, "Want to wait a bit and go again? You can fuck me if you like."

Erik closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his face. 

"No. Thank you." 

"You sure? Really, I don't mind." He smirks, overtly ogling Erik's bare stomach, his strong thighs. "I'll even give you a discount."

Suddenly Erik has the urge to laugh, to open his mouth and just _howl_ at the absurdity of it all. Even here there is no fairness, no illusion of equality. It all feels like a joke, some cosmic pissing match that sees fit to dangle his failures in front of his face, wrap them in promises of relief, no matter how temporary. 

He refrains and offers the boy as kind a smile as he can muster. "I don't think so."

And god bless him, the boy actually looks disappointed. He checks the money in his pocket and grabs his smokes. At the door he looks back and Erik is struck dumb for a moment at the sight, an image like a black and white photograph from a past that never existed, a context that never fit. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

That's the problem, Erik thinks. 

He's always known where to find him.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a writing exercise to challenge myself (I don't usually write smut). Now that it's finished, I've realized that I'd love to see a Charles version of this with an Erik!lookalike. Feel free to run with that, if you're so inclined ;)
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
